


shine for all you’re worth

by starlightwalking



Series: the wondrous parts of you and I [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fingon's Ribbons, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Quenya Names, Trans Fingon, Years of the Trees, Young Love, origins of the name "Russandol", they're so ridiculously sappily in love i can't stand it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: In which Findekáno admires Maitimo’s hair, promises are made, and gifts are exchanged.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: the wondrous parts of you and I [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979144
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54
Collections: Anna's Trans Anthology





	shine for all you’re worth

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be >1k like the other installments in this series, but every time I went to edit it I added like 200 words, oops
> 
> this doesn't require context for the series, but hey, why not go read the other fics anyway? :)
> 
> ETA: title from "Morning Glow" from the musical Pippin

“I love your hair,” Findekáno said, running his fingers through the blazing warmth of Maitimo’s tresses. He wore it loose today, not pulled back like he did when he needed to focus, or braided like he did for court, or tied up like he did when they went hunting or riding with their siblings. Findekáno wondered if he kept it free for him to play with, but perhaps that was only wishful thinking. He loved Maitimo, so much—too much, maybe. And while he knew Maitimo loved him too, of course he didn’t plan his entire life around him.

Maitimo turned to smile at him. “I love your hair, too,” he said quietly, reaching a hand up to tug gently on one plain braid.

Findekáno only rolled his eyes—his hair was nothing special. He wondered sometimes why he had not been named something more fitting—“hair commander” was not so impressive when your hair was neither red nor golden, as his cousins’ locks were. Even when he’d been very small, and he had been called a princess instead of a prince, his name had been mostly the same; it had only been masculinized when he told his father he was his son and not his daughter.

“Don’t discount yourself,” Maitimo scolded. “Your hair is beautiful, Finno. Just like you.”

“It’s plain,” he grumbled. “Certainly not something worth being named for.”

Maitimo looked at him thoughtfully. “And you think _my_ hair is?”

“Of course!” Findekáno said. He snorted. “We ought to switch—Findekáno fits you better than me.”

“That would make you Nelyafinwë,” Maitimo teased. “I think my father would kill yours if that happened.”

Findekáno shuddered. “Let’s not. Or—I could be Maitimo,” he offered. “You think I’m pretty, right?”

Maitimo laughed. “Of course I think you’re pretty. You’re the prettiest prince in all the land.”

“No, that’s you!” Findekáno laughed. “I’m only joking, love, I’d never take your name from you. Maitimo fits you perfectly. I just think it’s a bit silly that neither of your names mention your beautiful hair specifically.”

Maitimo tossed his fiery locks playfully, a gleam in his eye that made Findekáno’s heart squeeze with affection. Oh, he loved Maitimo, every part of him.

“I like your names,” Maitimo said softly. “Findekáno Astaldo. My brave prince.” He bowed his head respectfully, and Findekáno giggled.

“You’re royalty, too,” he said, swatting Maitimo’s shoulder. “Nelyafinwë Maitimo. My beautiful prince.” He matched his beloved’s bow until their faces were level, and placed a kiss upon his lips.

Maitimo smiled as their mouths met, reaching up to wind his fingers in Findekáno’s hair and trailing kisses down his neck. He tugged at a braid experimentally, at the same time sinking his teeth into Findekáno’s shoulder. Findekáno gasped, an electric shock bolting from the roots of his hair all the way down to his belly. A soft chuckle escaped Maitimo’s lips, and he felt his beloved slip a hand beneath his shirt, caressing his chest, pulling at a nipple...

“Maitimo!” Findekáno exclaimed, leaning back, though he couldn’t hide a smile. “How very improper! We’re not even married—” He broke off before adding _yet_ —dear Valar, that was far too soon, they'd only been together a year (well, almost two), their fathers didn’t know, couldn’t know—

Maitimo looked at him, and Findekáno’s throat closed up. Why was he so _tender_ , so _adoring_ —it wasn’t fair for him to look so deeply in love, with Findekáno of all people—and oh, Findekáno wanted him, wanted marriage, wanted Maitimo forever, wanted more what of Maitimo had teased, but he didn’t want to rush him, or push him away—

“Not yet,” Maitimo murmured, taking Findekáno’s hands and squeezing. “But...”

Findekáno thought he might faint. Maitimo looked nervous, too, but Findekáno leaned forward for another kiss, putting all his love and pent-up passion into it, and only drew back when they were both gasping for air.

“Maitimo,” he panted. “You...I love you. So much. I didn’t know I could love anyone this much.”

“I love you too,” Maitimo choked out. “Just as much. More. I’d do anything for you, Finno.”

To hear that—to _know_ that—Findekáno felt the same. He’d go to the ends of Arda for Maitimo, he’d run away with him if their families wouldn’t accept their love, anything, _anything_.

Maybe, he realized with a burst of light, maybe Maitimo _did_ plan his life around Findekáno. They were their own people, with their own lives and passions outside of each other, but Findekáno knew he kept Maitimo in his thoughts always...and he understood, now, that he was loved in the same way. He’d hoped for that, deep down, but he _knew_ now, and he could barely breathe with all the knowing.

“Finno?” Maitimo asked, and he realized he’d been silent, staring up at him in wonder.

“I just—I just realized that—that you love me as much as I love you,” Findekáno whispered.

“ _Of course_ I do,” Maitimo insisted, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I—no one’s loved anyone as much as I love you. As much as...” He trembled a little. “As much as you love me.”

Findekáno sobbed into his arms, sinking his hands into his hair—and _oh_ , that glorious hair. He really ought to have been named for it, as had the twins. He had to lean back again just to look at Maitimo, to behold his flaming tresses, to see the love that shone in his eyes

“I want to marry you,” Maitimo confessed, still holding him close. “I—ever since I knew I loved you, I’ve wanted that. We...I’ve always felt we were connected, that this was somehow fated... I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want a life without you. Finno...” And now he did let go, but only to cradle Findekáno’s face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I want that, too,” Findekáno whispered, and felt Maitimo brush a tear from his cheek. “You—you’re the only one, the only one I’ve ever loved like this, I’ve—that’s all I want, Maitimo, to be yours. Your husband.”

“Will you marry me?” Maitimo asked, and Findekáno was saying _Yes, yes, yes_ before he even finished the words.

Maitimo drew him close, kissing him again, and Findekáno kissed back, lost for an endless moment in the love they shared. He felt his fëa reach for Maitimo’s own, felt Maitimo reach back just as desperately, and wanted _more_ , wanted _everything_ , wanted _always_ and _forever_ —

“Wait,” Maitimo said, suddenly drawing back, and Findkeno let out a broken little sound as he got up to shuffle around in his drawer.

“I’ll be right back,” he answered, and suddenly Findekáno’s heart beat twice as fast. As much as he _wanted_ , he was suddenly unsure. Was Maitimo—did he—were they doing this _now_? Without a ceremony, without telling _anyone_ , without—

But Maitimo returned not holding a bottle of oil or anything more telling, but a handful of golden ribbons. Findekáno blinked, staring at him in confusion.

“A betrothal gift,” Maitimo said softly. “You—you were saying you didn’t feel your hair is beautiful enough for your name. You’re wrong, but—but if you want it to be more...remarkable, I could...I could braid these into your hair. I—don’t have a ring, not yet, I think we ought to tell our families first, but, in the meantime...”

Findekáno’s heart could have burst free from his chest, so full it was in that moment. He nodded tearfully, touched by the gift, by the gesture. His betrothed—betrothed!—kissed the crown of his head and began to undo his braids. The feeling of Maitimo’s fingers in his hair was terribly intimate, and he yearned for the day to come when they would be wed, and Maitimo would be free to touch him anywhere, everywhere.

“I love you,” Maitimo murmured each time he began to weave a ribbon into a strand of his hair. Findekáno had no words, his fëa too bright with joy to express his love any other way than by staring up at his beloved with shining eyes. And—he was thinking, thinking hard about Maitimo, about a way to give him a proper betrothal gift of his own.

It took a long time—he had a lot of hair—but at last Maitimo finished, and turned him to face the mirror. Findekáno gasped, tears budding in his eyes—for now he saw himself as Maitimo surely must, the beautiful prince with a heart full of gold, regal and comely and proud. This was someone worthy of the name Findekáno—this was someone worthy to be the husband of Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanárion.

He spun around and buried his face in his beloved’s chest. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Maitimo, I...you...this is perfect. I’ll wear them every day, for you, for the world to see—I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

Maitimo took a sharp breath and clung to him. “Finno, Finno,” he murmured. “I love you, dearest. I am so glad you like them.”

“I love them. I love you.” Findekáno looked up at him. Maitimo’s eyes shone a lovelier silver than Telperion, and the waning rays of Laurelin through the window caught his hair in such a light that it glowed truer than the brightest flames.

He knew, then, what his gift would be.

“You deserve a beautiful name,” he rasped. “Maitimo—that is worthy of your beauty, love, but your hair—it is fairer than flame, more gleaming than...” With one finger, he traced the ruddy metal brooch Maitimo wore on his chest, that eight-pointed star Fëanáro had adopted as his symbol. “...than burnished copper.”

“You flatter me,” Maitimo murmured, “but I cannot deny such praise from one so fair as yourself.”

“My gift to you,” Findekáno said, “my betrothal gift, for the nér I will marry...I give you a name, an epessë.”

Maitimo’s breath caught. “Oh?” he asked, his voice high in his throat.

Findekáno kissed him. “Russandol,” he said at last. “That is my name for you. For your hair. Russandol. My copper-top.”

Maitimo-who-was-Russandol blinked, then broke into a radiant smile. “Russandol,” he repeated. “I like it. I would love any gift of yours, but...this is beautiful. And like my ribbons in your hair, this name I will carry with me always.”

“My Russandol,” Findekáno said fiercely. “Mine. My love. My Russo.”

“My Finno,” Russandol agreed, and kissed him with his hands tangled in his ribboned hair. “I am yours, forever. Your Russo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](https://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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